


First Impressions

by lunarjasmine



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Degradation, F/M, Facials, Pretty hard Non-con tbh, Reader is not observant, Reader-Insert, non-con, not the skincare kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 21:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17536235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarjasmine/pseuds/lunarjasmine
Summary: Reader finds themselves on Mount Ormond for the first time.





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags! This is not a fluffy story!

Even before you open your eyes, you can feel the cold breeze pulling through your hair. The air, crisp, clean, frigid. It doesn't smell like any other place the Entity has pulled you to before.

  
You grunt in mild pain as you open your eyes, light reflecting in millions of pinpricks off the snow that coats everything. Pretty. This place doesn't seem to have the gloom of life and death on it yet.

A new place means a new killer, but also a new friend, new places to hide. You wonder which you'll encounter first, but a quick look shows you the last. A ski lodge, run down but still solid looking looms in the distance and the wind is biting through your thin jacket. You hate being closed in but you hate hypothermia more.

  
When you finally arrive at the empty doorframe leading into the building you instinctively duck and crouch down. Peeking around the corner you scan the insides of the lodge. The ceiling must not be intact because dusty rays of light pierce the interior, dust swirling in them, making the shadows even darker by comparison. There's a fireplace in the middle of the room, dark and cold, a countertop that might have been part of a bar at one point, and a smattering of overstuffed and motheaten chairs that look like they might disintegrate in the next stiff breeze. A rickety set of stairs leading up to a higher level, shrouded in dust and gloom. One of the walls is covered in black spray paint, dripping and too vibrant, that reads “The Legion”.

  
Before you can take any more of the room in, movement in the shadows catches your eye and you slip into a corner with all the practice of a hundred successful escapes, your heart hammering in your chest with the fear of a hundred failures. You'd bought your skill with blood and pain, the same as any other survivor and your gut is screaming at you to be quiet, stay low.

 

His isn't a form you recognize. Taller than you, but not physically imposing like the sentient mountains that were the Shape or the Trapper. Slender, but obvious muscle in his frame. Placing one of his palms flat on the counter, he vaults over with catlike grace that even Nea might envy. His green camo jeans are faded but not dirty, though the sleeves of the hoodie he wears under his leather jacket look a little worse for wear, unmistakably frayed. When his face finally catches the light, it illuminates a set of sharp but appealing features. Nose narrow and pointed, mouth turning down in a curious frown. His dark brows are furrowed as he regards the spray paint on the wall. As he cranes his neck to read the words, you catch a glimpse of a tattoo covering his neck.

  
Your stomach still twists with unease, but you shake it off. “Must be the new guy.”

 

He turns in a slow circle around the area, and when his eyes pass over your corner, that's when the heartbeats start. A shiver runs up your spine and your palms start to sweat. “Killer is closing in. Can't just leave him here, he's new, he'll be toast.”

 

Forcing yourself out of the shadows- and you do have to force yourself, every fiber of your being rebelling, your lizard brain screaming about the killer being near- you call the newcomer in a hushed whisper that still manages to pierce the stillness of the building, though hopefully not loud enough to carry outside where the killer is no doubt lurking. “Hey, new guy! Over here!”

 

He turns with more of that easy, liquid grace and for the briefest of moments you are unnerved at how fast he is, how smooth his movements. His eyes capture yours, seeming to glow in the light as he takes you in, a slow inventory from head to toe. A smirk meanders across his face. “Hey new girl. Why you hiding in the corner?”

 

“I'm not new.” You correct him. “I'm Y/N, and I'm trying to save your life.”

 

His smirk only widens, and he slouches against the counter, dragging a fingertip through the dust. “Hell of an introduction. I'm Frank.” The position puts another of those slanting bars of light across his face and the illusion of that glow persists, stronger now as the heartbeats begin to pound louder.

 

Shooting a quick glance at the door, you sigh. “Look tough guy, we don't have time. You've been dragged into a new place by a being none of us can understand. In every place, there's five people. Four survivors and one killer. Us, the survivors, our job is to hot wire these generators to power the gates to the exit and live another day. The killers job is self explanatory. They will try to catch you and hook you on these huge meat hooks to appease the being that brought us here. There's a killer outside, I can hear their heartbeat right now, so if we're going to survive this match, we need to get a move on. I don't want to die again.”

 

“Again.” His voice is oddly pensive. “You've died before.”

 

“In a gruesome variety of ways.”

 

“And you keep coming back.”

 

“The Entity brings us back again and again.” The heartbeat is close, so close you can practically feel the hook in your shoulder, though you still don't see the killer. The Wraith or the Nightmare maybe. “Frank, we don't have time!” You grab his hand in yours and pull him up the stairs towards a landing. The shadows part to reveal a generator in a relatively secluded corner and you shove him behind it. “Fix this. Don't worry, it'll come naturally. I'm going to see if I can find the killer and distract them to give you time.”

 

As you creep down the stairs, you hear him chuckle. “Thanks babe.” His voice sounds almost sarcastic, but you brush it off.

 

The heartbeats fade slowly as you exit,and you see no sign of the killer. The wind tears at your clothes and you quickly dash back in to give Frank the all clear, but when you reach the landing, he's gone and the generator is no closer to being done at all.

 

A voice calls your name from one of the rooms above and you turn to find the source: Claudette waving at you from the next landing. With her cocoa colored skin and midnight hair, she is next door to impossible to spot in the gloom. She makes her way down to meet you at the generator.

“Claudette! I just met-” You begin, but your words are cut short by a banshee-like shriek in the distance.

 

“I think that was Meg!” All her good cheer gone, Claudette now sounds close to tears.

  
“Have you seen the killer yet? I heard them but I haven't spotted them yet.”

 

“I have no idea who it is! I thought Meg was right behind me!”

 

“Let's see where they've hooked her.” You suggest. “Maybe there's still time!”

 

As you exit into the cold again, you wonder what became of Frank and hope he isn't next.

 

There's roses in the snow. That's your first thought as you come across the initial tiny red blotches, but then you turn a corner and see the snow churned into red slush that your brain stubbornly and cruelly insists on comparing to cherry slurpees and you feel your heart begin to sink. No one could lose this much blood and survive, could they?

 

They can't. Half hidden behind a tree stump, Meg is facedown in the snow, one hand still outstretched, skin as pale as rice paper.

 

“They didn't even hook her.” Claudette’s voice is heavy with unshed tears. “They just left her to bleed out. I thought she was right behind me.”

 

You wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders as the tears that have been lurking start to spill. “C’mon. Let's not stay here.” You pull her towards a small shack some distance away. It probably held ski equipment at one point but now just a generator and the entrance to the killer's basement. “Think you can hop on this gen while I take a peek downstairs?”

 

Claudette takes a deep breath to steady herself before offering you a faint and watery smile. “Yeah. Be careful.”

 

You promise, tiptoeing down the stairs. The air is heavy and still, warmer than upstairs but you can't enjoy it for the stench of blood that hangs around the place. The chest creaks loudly under your hands and you pause, your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Your pulse seems to double before you realize that it's not your heartbeat you're hearing and you snatch the flashlight from the chest and bolt upwards but you're too late, your soft spoken friend is gone. You lean out of the window, hoping to spot her tracks, afraid to spot her blood. As you draw breath to call her name, a hand wraps around your mouth.

 

“Don't. The killer is still close.”

 

Turning, you lock eyes with Jake, and once he's certain you won't yell, he moves his hand from your mouth. “It's too late. I saw it.”

 

As grieved as you are by Claudette's death, a more important question is coalescing in your mind. “Jake, if you're the fourth survivor, then Frank-”

 

You don't get to finish. The sound of a foreign heartbeat is all around you and a figure comes vaulting through the window, knocking Jake to the ground. The killer lands on top of him with a crash, the silver of a hunting knife glinting in his hand as he buries it three, four, five times in Jake's chest. Jake coughs and exhales bloody foam as the killer turns to you, pushing his plastic mask up to reveal a familiar face. “Hey new girl.” Frank teases, with a grin, drying his knife on his sleeve.

 

“What the fuck, Frank!” You try to step backwards but the wall of the shack stops your progress.

 

“What's the matter, honey?”

 

“What's the-” You grope for the words, your mouth temporarily dropping open. “You just murdered my friends, you sick fuck!”

 

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “They'll all be back. You said so yourself.” Jake makes a groaning noise behind him and Frank smirks. “Hold that thought.”

 

Transfixed, your body refuses to move, seemingly locked in place as Frank casually drives the knife into Jake's throat. He straightens again and brushes his hands off on his pants. “Sorry. Now they'll all be back. You were saying?”

 

“Oh my god.” You tear your eyes away from Jake's corpse to meet Frank's insane (and yes, glowing. How'd you mistake it for a trick of the light?) gaze. “Why didn't you kill me earlier? Is this part of your game?”

 

“Oh!” He seems momentarily surprised by the question. “You mean in the lodge? I was still kinda getting a handle on things. Thanks for the quick little overview by the way. That and you're pretty hot, I'm gonna fuck you first.”

 

Your stomach turns. “You seriously _cannot_ think I'm going to go to bed with you after I watched you murder my friends.”

 

Frank chuckles, the sound so pleasant and disarming that it takes you completely by surprise when he slams the hunting knife into the wall by your temple. “You seriously _cannot_ think I'm _asking_ after you watched me murder your friends.” His hand wraps around your throat. “That's just stupid, babe.”

 

A familiar weakness is starting in your legs, making you sag against the wall. There's no point in fighting, is there? Sure, you might not be injured, but all of the Entity’s attack dogs have grips like iron, and Frank is no different.

 

“That's it, good girl.” He murmurs into your ear as the fight in you dies. “Don't worry, you're gonna like it.” Frank laughs again, tilting your chin up to face him. “Next time we do this little dance you'll be looking forward to getting caught.” He licks his way into your mouth; his tongue is pierced and the metal ball clicks against your teeth as his other hand finds your hip and pulls you against him.

 

He's hard against you, grinding his hips into yours as he presses his erection against you. “Fuck, you're sexy.” His lips trail down your neck. “Can't wait to see what you look like under these clothes.” His hands are under your shirt, caressing your breasts, lightly teasing your nipples with the pads of his thumbs. You bite back a whimper and he laughs, pulling his hands away. “Not yet. First, you're going to do something for me.”

 

Frank puts his palm flat on your head and with a little pressure and coaxing he soon pushes you to your knees, face to face with the swelling at his groin. “Don't be shy, honey.”

 

Your fingers tremble when you reach for his belt buckle, but he doesn't seem to mind. The metal clinks under your fingers, everything different when you're taking a belt off from this angle, and it's a little bit of a struggle to undo the clasps holding his jeans together, but you manage. You slide them off of his hips, followed by his boxers, until you're greeted by his erection.

 

Your first few licks are tentative; he's attractive enough and tastes clean but the circumstances make you less than enthusiastic and his hand tightens painfully in your hair. “You can suck it properly or I can just shove it down your throat instead. Your choice.” Frank's voice is cold, and when you snatch a peek at his face, his eyes are hard, blazing with that crimson light.

 

You pick the former, relaxing your jaw as much as you can to take him in. You gag once or twice, but far from being angered, Frank seems merely amused, his good humor back now that he's getting what he wanted. “I know it isn't small, but I kinda suspect you're just flattering me now, babe.” He says as a particularly strong spasm wracks your throat. “Keep doing it.”

 

The sucking or the flattering? You wonder. It doesn't really matter, as you keep doing both until he pulls your head back off of his cock. He gestures to the ground and you realize he wants you to get on your back on the shack floor. You don't mean to be disobedient, but your reluctance is evident and the killer rolls his eyes at you. “Such a fucking princess.” He sheds his jacket and hoodie, tossing them on the ground for you and you think it prudent not to annoy him further. The fabric insulates you from the worst of the cold floor, although your skin pebbles with chill bumps as Frank pulls your clothes off. “Don't worry baby, you'll be nice and warm once you start taking this dick.” The teasing lilt is back in his voice; he leans down to give your nipples a few soft bites before spreading your thighs with his knee and starting to rub the head of his cock against you.

 

He doesn't give you any warning or time to prepare; with one swift roll of his hips he's inside of you. Thankfully he's still slick from the blowjob you gave him, preventing it from being too painful, though you do have to adjust fast to the sensation of being forced open. His hands grab your knees, spreading your thighs wide so he can watch himself violating your body and a moan, half pleasure and half pain tears itself from your throat at the visual. “That's it, slut. Told you you'd like it.”

 

You wish he was wrong; it feels like blasphemy to be here, inches from your friend's still-cooling corpse, naked and pinned under the man who killed him while he pumps his cock into you, but the truth is that Frank is damned good at what he does and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter as he fucks you. Soon, you can't hold back the whimpers and cries; a part of you is relieved and glad no one else is around to hear the sounds of pleasure spilling from your traitorous lips.

 

“Fuck, babe. Your body is so fucking perfect, and your pussy is so hot and wet for me. Can't wait to fill you with my come. You want it?” His full weight settles onto you as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “Huh, slut? You want to take my come? Beg for it.” His hand insinuates itself between your bodies, rubbing your clit in small circles. “Say ‘Frankie, I want you to come inside me.’” He's rough, straddling the line between ‘too much’ and ‘just enough’; tending more towards the latter and when you take too long to respond, he bites your earlobe, hard and sharp, making your eyes water with the sudden pain. “I said _beg for it_ , you stuck up little bitch,” He snarls, grabbing you by your waist and holding you in place as he slams his hips into yours.

 

It's too much; the tears that were pricking your lids before start to fall as you squirm helplessly underneath him, unable to move or pull away or really do much of anything except take him. “Frank, _please_ -” A sob cuts off the rest of your plea, your body shuddering with the impact of his.

 

“Come on baby, you can do better than that.” Color is high in his cheeks, the red glow from his eyes painting everything as his chest rises and falls with each breath. A rivulet of sweat drips down the side of his neck, runs down his pectorals and disappears into the trail of dark hair that starts just below his navel. “I'm real fucking close. Tell me where you want it and I'll let you come.” His fingers find your clit again, resuming their impatient rubbing and circling.

 

“Frank, please, I don't care, I-” Another shiver wracks your body, not entirely unpleasant and you twist restlessly beneath his hands, although whether your body is seeking more stimulation or less, you couldn't say. All you know is that your cheeks are burning with shame or arousal or both; your stomach in familiar knots and tears streaming down your face.

 

“Don't care, you just gotta have it, huh? You really are a slut.” Frank snickers at your discomfiture. “Fine, fine. Come on, then, babe. Give it to me.” He presses into you with his fingertips as he angles his hips just right and the combination of internal and external stimulation sends a shockwave of pleasure through your poor abused body; sets fireworks off behind your eyelids. He doesn't stop or slow his thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm and making it all the more intense for that.

 

When finally your body is finished, leaving you limp and exhausted, a dishrag wrung out to dry, the killer on top of you smirks, whispers, “My turn,” into your ear, and pulls out, springing to his feet and yanking you into a kneeling position by your hair in one fluid motion. The sudden change in positioning, along with your fatigue, makes you dizzy; it's all you can do to stay upright and close your eyes as Frank groans in pleasure and spurt after spurt of his come anoints your face, the hot liquid splashing over your brow and cheeks and chin. Finally, he parts your lips with his fingers and thrusts his softening cock into your mouth, flooding your tongue with slick salt and heat, pushing your face into his groin until you swallow around him. “Good girl.” He croons when you finally open heavy lidded eyes to look up at him. “You look so hot all covered in my come. If I had my phone, I'd take a picture. Sucks that I didn't bring it.”

 

He gives you a thoughtful once over, his hunting knife back in his hand and twirling idly around his index finger. “Y’know, I was just gonna kill you, but you did do me a favor earlier, and you are a pretty good fuck… I guess I'll take it easy on you. This time.” His smile is so sweet, so cheerful that it completely blindsides you when he kicks you in the ribs, sending you crashing back down to the cabin floor. Grabbing a fistful of your hair again, he drags you outside, the wooden floor rough against your bare skin, ripping gouges into your back and peeling skin off of your arms and legs. The cold snow is almost a relief, numbing the pain of your wounds while it bites at every exposed bit of you.

 

Frank drops you onto the hatch with little fanfare and less warning, the corner of it digging painfully into your ribs. You push yourself to your feet, preparing to enter, but he stops you. “No goodbye kiss?”

 

It's not a real question; a real question would give you the opportunity to say yes or no. The man in front of you doesn't give you that choice, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you close again before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “When I catch you next time, I'm fucking you in the ass.” He purrs in your ear, giving you a suggestive pat on the rear and a wink. “Don't forget. Oh, and babe?”

 

As your lips part to respond, he drives the hunting knife through your left shoulder and shoves you into the open hatchway. “A little goodbye present!”

 

His laughter follows you all the way down into darkness.


End file.
